Escaping the Maze
by SoggyMuff
Summary: A single event can set in motion a domino effect beyond imagining, entwining lives and shattering worlds, ensuring that nothing will ever be the same again. Crossover with Maximum Ride. Team fic. Entire original Flock. [Danny/Lindsay] [FAX] Set early season 5 for CSI NY and during "The Angel Experiment' for Maximum Ride.
1. Chapter 1

**ESCAPING THE MAZE**

" _Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. "_

― _William S. Burroughs_

0o0o0o0o0o

 **Chapter 1**

(The first part of this chapter is adapted largely from Chapter 96 of _The Angel Experiment_. Direct dialogue quotes are indicated with an asterisk. The difference being it's from Iggy's POV, and the Flock actually does scatter to escape, meeting back up where they said.)

Iggy heard the sound of the car first, a strange mechanical murmur from directly below that butted into his dreams, tugging him awake. Without opening his eyes, (because honestly, what good would that do for the blind guy?), he listened as car doors opened and shut and people gathered under them. His long fingers gripped the rough bark of his five-star-hotel-tree-branch tighter, preparing for…well…anything. He was just about to whisper a warning to Max when a voice shattered the silence with " _It is unlawful to climb trees in Central Park!"*_

The little gasp that escaped Max let him know she'd been startled awake. So had Fang. _Nice one, Max_ , he couldn't help smirking. _Way to be all leaderly and take last watch._

"How did they even know we were up here?" he heard Gazzy mutter, the eight-year-old still sounding half asleep. "Who looks up into a tree?"*

"And who exactly _is_ looking up into this tree at us?" Iggy whispered so quiet only Fang would hear. At times like this, which seemed to be happening a LOT more often now they were wanted fugitives and all, he really wished life came with subtitles. Spoken subtitles. Right in his ears.

"Cops," Fang whispered back, effusive as always. Not.

"Okay, guys," Max said. "Get down; try to look _normal_. When we're on the ground, we'll make a run for it. If we get separated, connect up at, like, Fifty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue. _Comprende_?"*

Try to look normal? While squirreling his way down a tree by touch, with cops watching? Obviously, Max was smoking something.

Fang tapped his hand twice, a silent signal that the other boy would go first, giving him someone to listen to and follow, and Iggy sighed. New York City, in his humble opinion, sucked.

"There are signs posted everywhere clearly stating that climbing trees is forbidden,"* one of the cops said, his voice snooty.

Iggy snorted to himself. Like a little sign would ever stop them from doing something.

Once they were all on the ground, some lady cop started in on them about how they would escort them somewhere, call their non-existent parents, but he tuned her out. He could feel the Flock starting to move slightly around him and he didn't want to miss it when they inevitably bolted.

Another car arrived, more footsteps sounded, and then, in a fierce whisper, Max signaled, "Now!"*

They all took off in different directions. Iggy followed Fang and the Gasman while Max and Nudge helped Angel. They hadn't gone more than ten steps when he heard little Angel give a cry of distress, screaming out the name of that stuffed bear she'd conned someone into buying for her. He hesitated, turning back around and wondering what was happening, but Max seemed to be handling it.

Running again, he cursed under his breath as he realized Fang and Gaz hadn't stopped at all and were far ahead of him now. He knew he should have latched onto Fang's belt loop before they scattered! Concentrating hard, he forced his ears to filter through the world of sounds around him and find the ones he needed. Behind him, he could hear Angel's continued cries, growing fainter as Max and Nudge dragged her away in the opposite direction, and up ahead, he could still make out the two boys' quick breaths. He zoned in on that and took off –

\- only to feel the world fall out from under him as his feet tripped over something he couldn't see. The ground beneath him had changed abruptly from grass to pavement and he hit it with an "OOF", asphalt shredding into the palms of his hands and tearing up the knees of his jeans. Words that Max would have his head for flashed through his brain as he immediately scrambled back to his feet, but before he could start off again, two hands clamped down around his shoulders.

"Hold it, kid," a voice growled in his ear.

 _Crap!_

He tried to jerk away, but the hands were like tight vices and were instantly joined by two others that yanked his own arms behind his back and secured his wrists with a pair of cold, metal handcuffs. The tiny click of the cuffs closing around his arms sent both panic and awful memories shooting through him, and he struggled and squirmed for a moment before stilling in defeat. He could probably _still_ get away, but what would he do, unable to see or use his hands, lost in this monstrous city without help? He thought about screaming, knowing the Flock would hear him and come rushing back, but the last thing he wanted was to get all of his family captured as well.

Someone grabbed his arm and started tugging him back toward the waiting cars.

"So, you arrest people for climbing trees now, do you?" he spat, dragging his feet. He might be trapped, but he wasn't about to go willingly to his doom.

"When they're cheeky brats who take off running, yeah, we do."

A door was opened and the guy who'd been dragging him along shoved him inside the back of a cop car so roughly he hit the grate the separated the back from the front and almost tumbled onto his head on the floor.

"Hey!" he shouted, mad now. "I've listened to TV before! Aren't cops supposed to be reading me my rights or something before you do this?"

The man leaned down menacingly. Iggy could feel him blocking the doorway. "Good thing I'm not a real cop and blind birdies like you _have no_ rights." He laughed evilly then backed up, slamming the door shut. It didn't stop Iggy from hearing him say to his companions, "I'll take this one to the transfer point. The rest of you go after the others."

Angrily, Iggy jerked and heaved himself around until he was sitting upright in the seat, something that's harder to do than it looks without hands, then let his head fall back against the upholstery that stank of vomit and sweat.

"My life sucks," he muttered, before closing his eyes in resignation.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Gazzy panted.

Fang scowled at the blond-headed kid still jogging beside him. "Yes, Gaz, I do." Max had said to meet up at Fifty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue and that was where he was headed, but he wasn't stupid enough to make a straight line for it. He had to make sure they were alone first, which meant weaving through the crowded New York City streets for a while.

He hoped Max and the others were okay. When Angel had screamed out he'd wanted to stop and help but he knew Max would want him to keep Gazzy safe. He'd heard Iggy turn back, and between him and Max, Fang knew they would have been able to get Angel and Nudge away. Still, it never felt right, being separated like this, and he wouldn't relax until they were back together.

After about ten more minutes of taking streets seemingly at random, Fang pulled them both abruptly into the dark opening of an underground parking garage, hunching back into the shadows that hugged the cement walls and listening carefully.

"What are – ?" Gazzy started to say but Fang shook his head, signaling for the boy to stay quiet.

They stood there for what felt like forever, until he was certain they weren't being stalked or followed anymore. "Okay," he finally said. "Let's go."

They stepped back out into the crowd and Fang felt Gazzy's small, sweaty hand slide into his. _Poor kid, dragged all over and expected to follow without complaint._ He gave the kid's hand a tiny squeeze, telling him without words that he understood.

"Do you think the others are okay?" Gaz asked.

"Yeah. Max is with them."

Gazzy accepted that logic without comment.

They walked in silence after that. Fang was hyper-aware, constantly on the lookout for anything suspicious, but they really did seem to be alone for now. They reached Max's randomly picked rendezvous point without further incident, a busy street corner full of posh shops and multi-million dollar apartment buildings.

Fang cringed as he glanced over Gazzy and himself. They hadn't showered or changed clothes in over a week, since they'd left the home they could never return to. During that time they'd been chased, in fights, slept in trees, caves and even cages, ate desert rat… His longish, black hair hung in greasy strings in his eyes and Gazzy's face was more smudged with dirt than clear. They were alarmingly filthy and disgusting.

In short, they stood out like vultures in a flock of doves. Or, you know, maybe dirty, mutant, bird kids in a crowd of humans…

"Over here," mumbled Fang, pushing Gazzy out of the middle of the sidewalk. Max and the others weren't around yet and he felt extremely exposed, but there was nowhere to hide. He stepped back and leaned against the wall of one of the glitzy stores, keeping The Gasman close and trying to ignore the suspicious and scathing looks people kept giving them.

"They're all looking at us like we're something stinky on their shoes," Gazzy grumbled, clearly offended.

"They're just dumb, Gaz," Fang said, pulling the kid closer.

They endured maybe fifteen more minutes of painful scrutiny before Fang finally saw Max approaching, a still sobbing Angel riding on her hip. Gazzy saw them at the same time.

"There they are!" he cried, tugging Fang forward with surprising strength.

Fang didn't answer, instead following with a frown as he did a quick mental count. Max and Angel, Nudge hurrying beside them… His frown deepened.

"Where's Iggy?" he blurted out by way of greeting when they all met in the middle of the block, causing a mini-pedestrian traffic jam. A feeling of dread was starting to settle in the pit of his stomach.

"What do you mean, where's Iggy?" Max snapped, clearly still ticked as she set a whimpering Angel down beside her and grabbed the six-year-old's hand. "Iggy went your direction."

Fang was already shaking his head grimly. "He went back. To help. When he heard Angel scream."

"What? No! It was just Nudge and I. We grabbed Angel and ran…"

Her words trailed off and Fang new the instant she realized what they'd done. An expression of pure horror filled her face.

They'd left Iggy behind.

A strong curse slipped out of Fang's lips and Max didn't even bother to yell at him.

 _Why hadn't he checked when he heard Iggy turn back? Why hadn't he remembered when it was most important that no matter how capable Iggy was, his brother was still BLIND? Why had he just run on and assumed Ig would be fine?_

How could he have lost his own brother?

"I…I thought he was with you," Max muttered, sounding broken.

Abruptly the three younger ones, who had up to this moment had been staring at Max and him in a sort of shocked terror, burst into tears.

"Hey!" someone shouted at him before he could even begin to think of what to do. He turned and fixed a death glare on the guy – an employee of the shop whose entrance they were currently blocking. The death glare had no effect.

"Can't you kids read?" the man spat, pointing to a sign that spelled out _No Loitering_. "You're keeping customers out! Get out of here or I'll call the cops!"

"Guys, let's move," he said softly, herding the Flock, including a still shell-shocked Max, down the street.

"But…but… _Iggy_!" Nudge sobbed, her mocha-colored cheeks streaked with moisture.

"I know, but we're attracting too much attention here. Come on, go," he urged, reaching down and picking up Angel. She immediately turned into his neck, her limp, golden curls brushing his skin, and started crying even harder. Mechanically, Max took Gazzy's hand and then the two of them pushed Nudge along through the crowded streets, all of their faces grim and tear-stained.

After a couple of blocks, he spied a small plaza. It had some freaky statue in it, but more importantly it was out of the way of the crowd and had built-in stone benches.

"Max," he said, nodding at it once he had her attention. She nodded back and they crossed to it, Gazzy and Nudge immediately sinking down onto one of the benches. Gently, Fang set Angel down next to them and all three huddled together, looking small and scared.

By now Max's horror had morphed into anger, an anger he knew was directed at herself. How did he know this? Because he was feeling the same loathing for allowing this to happen. All he could think of was that he'd left his best friend and brother behind to who knew what fate, unable to even see.

"They could have been real cops?" Max said without much conviction.

 _Or they could have been Erasers and Iggy was back in the clutches of the School_ , Fang finished the thought neither one of them wanted to say out loud, but he both knew they were thinking.

"Maybe…maybe he got away?" Gazzy suggested, his voice trembling as he attempted to gain control over his emotions. He wiped his nose on his filthy sleeve. "Ig's really good at getting around and stuff, and really sneaky. Maybe…maybe he's just wandering around somewhere, waiting for us to find him?"

Max reached out and ruffled the kid's hair, giving him a forced smile. "Maybe."

It _was_ a possibility. Iggy wasn't helpless. But, here in this strange city with so much noise and confusion, the odds were so stacked against him that Fang found the thought of him wandering around on his own almost as alarming as the thought of him being arrested.

"So, what do we do?" he asked Max. She was the leader, something he'd accepted years ago. He was just there to back her up and help her when she faltered. Like now.

She thought for a moment, pacing slightly as she raked fingers through her dingy blonde hair, then squared her shoulders and turned to them.

"I think we should head back to the park. The cops won't expect us to come back so soon and if Iggy did get away, that's the best place to start looking for him."

"And if he got arrested?" Fang asked. He met her brown eyes, adding silently, _"and taken to the School?"_

She sighed, sounding exhausted. "Then I'll figure that part out in a bit, after we know he's not in the park."

A typical figure-it-out-as-you-go Max plan, but, it's not like he had a better one. He took Angel's hand and pulled the heart-broken little girl to her feet while Max held onto Nudge and Gazzy.

"Everyone keep your eyes open, for anyone who looks suspicious, but also for Iggy," Max said, her leader voice back on. "Who knows how far he could have wandered by now."

They headed back in the direction they'd just come, everyone scanning the crowd for a tall, red-haired blind kid who was sure to stick out like crazy. As they walked, Fang sent out a silent plea, wish, prayer…whatever.

 _Please let him be okay._

0o0o0o0o0o

They'd only gone a few blocks when Max felt it – the tingling of the tiny hairs on the back of her neck that said they were being watched. She glanced over at Fang and his dark eyes immediately met hers; he felt it, too. On the pretense of straightening her hair, she looked around.

There, across the street, sitting at a table in front of a café, was a guy who was practically perfect in every way. Only he wasn't the male version of Mary Poppins, he was an evil child-killing machine hiding in a model's body. He met her gaze, grinning hungrily.

"All right guys," she whispered, clutching Gazzy's hand tighter. The kids were instantly on alert, clued in by the tone of her voice. "On the count of three, we're gonna run."

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Eraser was still just sitting there, but that wouldn't last for long.

"One!" she whispered and around her the Flock took off.

They crashed through the crowds of people, ignoring the curses and angry cries that were directed at them, running full out. As they skidded around a corner, she peeked behind them and saw that their so unwelcome shadow was indeed giving chase.

"Pour it on!" she ordered, forcing Gazzy to keep up. Beside her, Fang swung Angel up into his arms and Max's heart ached even more. It wasn't even noon and they'd already been running for their lives twice.

They pounded down that street and across to the next, ignoring the little signal that was telling them to wait for the traffic light to change. They left an angry cacophony of blaring horns and swearing strangers in their wake but she didn't have time to feel bad.

"He's gaining on us!" Fang growled.

Up ahead, Max could see the green of Central Park's trees. If they could just make it to the park they might be able to find a place secluded enough for an Up and Away.

They hurtled down the pavement toward the intersection of the road that skirted the park, but Max could tell from a block away that it was having a bad day. Cars and trucks and taxicabs plugged it like some angry child had been playing with them and then left them all in a mess. Making a split second decision, she yanked Gazzy with her around the corner and headed for the middle of the block. When she was two-thirds of the way down it was as if her feet just turned of their own accord and darted out into the street between two parked delivery trucks that were blocking the inside lane. She paused for one second, saw the bus coming but the Eraser coming faster… There was no time to think it through, make a plan, calculate the odds… All she could do was run, her family streaming a hair's breadth behind her and her heart pounding in her throat.

The shrieking wail of horns followed by a sickening thud and squeal of brakes sent her into full out panic. She made it to the far side of the road, still tugging an extremely pale Gazzy and turned. Relief flooded through her as Fang and Nudge ran up, Fang still carrying Angel and all three of them looking rather ill.

"Oh my gosh!" Nudge panted, her eyes huge and a hand covering her mouth. "That bus…it just….the Eraser…did you see…?"

The eleven-year-old looked ready to puke and for once her powers of speech failed her.

Max looked back, then cringed and pulled Gazzy's face into her side. Fang had already turned so Angel wasn't facing it; she and Fang might have already witnessed far worse in their short fourteen years, but the bloody mess of an Eraser pancake was not something the little ones needed to see.

A small crowd was gathering, a few fingers pointing their way, and Max could hear the sound of police sirens in the distance.

"Come on," she whispered, moving toward the inviting shelter of the trees. "Time to not be here."

Slowly and carefully, so as not to draw any more attention to themselves, they moved backwards until they had melted into the green of the park.

0o0o0o0o0o

 **Author's Note** :

I hate putting stories in the Crossover's section. No one finds them there and they just seem to get lost. So I have chosen to stick this here, in the main CSI NY thread. Hopefully, for those of you not familiar with the Maximum Ride characters, they can simply be read as OCs. And never fear, our CSI NY gang will be showing up front and center in Chapter 2.

A huge shout-out goes to Lizzie for support and plot hashing!

And last but not least, I'd LOVE to know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The black Avalanche squeezed its way between police cars and Don Flack watched as the engine died and two people climbed out.

"Took the scenic route I see," he teased tapping his watch as they both reached into the back seats, pulling out hard, silver cases.

Mac Taylor simply glared at him, walking by without comment.

"Grumpy…" Don muttered to Stella.

"Caffeine withdrawal," she said with sympathy.

Don raised an eyebrow, silently asking for a better explanation.

"He spent the night in his office and the lab's coffee machine is on the fritz again. This came in before we could hit a Starbucks."

"You two going to chat all day, or you want to update me on what we got here, Don?"

 _Okay then_ , Don thought, knowing it was best to just let it ride when his friend was in a mood like this. He pulled his little black notebook from his suit coat and flipped to the page on which he'd been taking notes. "Victim is currently a John Doe. No identification of any sort on him. Call came in about ten forty-five. Witnesses said a group of kids cut across the street, right through traffic, and our mashed man here appeared to be chasing them. The bus driver was focused on not hitting the kids and never even saw him when he ran in front. And, well, you can see what happened next."

Mac knelt down by the body, looking it over top to bottom with a critical eye and Don grimaced. This was his least favorite part of the job, staring at something that used to be human but was no longer recognizable.

Stella wandered over to the unmoving bus, studying it and the ground around it with the same focused attention.

"It looks like he made quite an impact when he was hit," she said, snapping some pictures.

"Apparently, he bounced," Don replied, checking his notes again. "Witnesses say he landed in the eastbound lanes where he was run over and dragged by no less than two other vehicles before traffic finally came to a standstill."

Mac was staring at the victim's mangled face, frowning. Don wondered what he was thinking, but knew Mac wouldn't volunteer the information until he was ready. That was just how the man worked; he had to sort things out clearly in his own mind before he could share them with others. Finally, he stood up.

"Where are the kids that he was supposedly chasing? The ones that ran out into the street first?" he asked.

"Don't know," Don answered. "They disappeared right after the accident. Most likely into the park. I've got uni's canvassing it, but so far they haven't found them."

"When they do, I want to talk to them."

"You thinkin' this is more than an accident?"

"I think I'd like to know why a grown man was chasing a group of children, and if he was tricked into stepping in front of that bus."

Don couldn't disagree with him. "'K. I'll tell my guys to bring 'em in if they find them. In the meantime, if you guys don't need me here anymore, I've got some witnesses waiting back at the Precinct I'd like to go interview. See if I can create a better timeline for what happened."

Mac nodded, already distracted by his examination of the crime scene again. Don glanced over at Stella, catching her eye and mouthing, " _I'll bring you coffee. Lots of coffee_." She gave him a grateful grin and a little wave. He returned the smile and then pocketed his notebook before fishing out his keys and climbing in his car.

0o0o0o0o0o

Danny Messer knocked on the doorframe of the almost empty interrogation room. "Yo, Don, you ready to go? Mac texted and invited us to meet him for drinks. Think he's tryin' to apologize for being such a…" He trailed off as he watched Don drop to his knees and stick his head under the table in the room. "Flack, what on earth are you doing?" It had been a heck of a long day, but he didn't think it had been bad enough to drive the detective cuckoo.

"Button," Don's voice floated back from under the table.

"What?" Danny asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway.

Don pulled himself from under the table and climbed to his feet with a sigh.

"I lost a button off my shirt. I think it was in here," he said, giving the floor one more quick survey.

A quick laugh ripped from Danny's throat; he couldn't help it. The image was just too priceless. "Man, that's pathetic. Just take it to the dry cleaner's. They'll replace it for ya."

"Hey, a man's only got so much budget for dry cleaning, and I've been going through shirts like crazy this month. I think word is out on the streets for every criminal to try and destroy my wardrobe."

"I'll splurge for a new button, my treat," Danny said, still laughing. "Now come on. Let's get out of this madhouse."

Don sent him a friendly glare, but left the room, killing the light and pulling the door shut behind him. "Mac was really on one today, huh?" he said. "You guys better get that coffee maker fixed soon."

"Rumor is Adam's pulling an all-nighter to try and fix it. Says he can't take another day like today," Danny quipped back.

This was exactly what he needed; a night of good, back-and-forth banter with his friends, to help drain away the stress of this job. A night where he could _not_ worry about the complicated mess that was whatever he and Lindsay had these days. Just a night to relax.

They headed out the back way, down the long hall of dark interrogation rooms, but something caught his eye as they passed the last one. He stopped, peering through the mostly-closed shades.

"Ain't this the one that's got the camera ripped out right now? The one we're not using?" Danny asked, scrunching his eyes up in thought.

"Yeah. New surveillance equipment got put on the backburner thanks to the budget cuts. Until it can get fixed, room's just gathering dust. Why?"

"Just, I could have sworn I saw something in there,' he answered, trying to see through the blinds again. Yes, right there, in the center of the room, was a large blob of something white, which shouldn't have been there in a room supposedly holding only a dusty table.

Danny frowned. He stepped up to the door and turned the nob, scowling deeper when he realized it was locked. Grumbling, he fished his keys from his pocket and found the master that would give him access, then silently pushed the door open. His eyes widened in shock.

The room was occupied. A boy in a dirty white t-shirt sat slumped over the table, asleep, his head resting on the hard surface and locks of dingy, red hair covering his face.

"What the crap?" Don said quietly, voicing Danny's thoughts quite nicely.

This was all wrong. Not only should this room not be in use and no one in it, but even if it _had_ been pressed into service in an emergency, there's no way a suspect should have been left alone, with no supervising officer, no lights on, and the door locked from the outside.

He exchanged a grim look with Don before rapping sharply on the door with his fist just as his friend flipped on the light.

The kid jerked upright, instantly awake, shock and suspicion radiating from him in waves. Danny didn't miss the slight chink of metal on metal as he moved, though, or the way those movements were pulled short… Someone had left the boy's hands cuffed to the small ring fixed just under the table. Just left him – handcuffed, alone, and sitting in dark.

This was so not cool in Danny's book no matter what the kid had been brought in for.

"So you finally came back to finish the job?" the kid spat, his voice dry and rough, like he hadn't spoken in hours.

"Finish what job?" Don asked, moving into the room and perching on the corner of the table.

"Oh, you know…the beat me to a pulp, torture me just for fun, and then kill me job," the boy said, sounding completely serious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Danny stared at the teen for a moment, alarmed by his words. "Hey, man," he finally said, closing the door and then swinging around the chair across from the boy so he could straddle it. "That's a very negative impression of the police you've got going there. A bit exaggerated, don'tcha think?"

The kid scoffed, leaning back against his chair and looking stiff and uncomfortable with his hands still cuffed. "You can drop the act. I know you jerks think I'm defective, but I'm not stupid. We all know you're not cops."

Danny raised an eyebrow and shared an incredulous look with Don before they both pulled their badges from their belts and slapped them down on the table.

"Not cops, huh?" Don asked. The boy didn't even bother to glance at the badges, which was annoying. "What, an NYPD shield not proof enough these days?"

"Or the fact that you're inside a police interrogation room?" added Danny, leaning his arms on the back of the chair.

The kid just sighed. "I'll give you points for creativity. Weirdest experiment you freaks have pulled yet. But could we just get on with it? My butt went numb ages ago."

 _Experiment_? What the blazes was this kid talking about? Was he nuts? And what was he doing in the precinct's out-of-commission interrogation room?

A rather loud rumble suddenly cut through the awkward silence in the room, coming from the kid's stomach. Danny gave a sigh of his own. "How long you been in here?"

"How should I know?" the boy grumbled.

"Make an educated guess," Don threw back, rolling his eyes.

"Why don't you talk to the other Mr. Pretending-to-be-a-Cop who dragged me here early this morning? I guess he forgot to give me the itinerary."

Danny had to resist the urge to bang his head on the chair-back in frustration even as a portion of his brain realized the kid had answered the question in a roundabout away. He did a quick calculation and came to a disturbing conclusion. If the boy really had been brought in early that morning, he'd been sitting chained to a table for upwards of eight hours! That was just what they needed getting out – that they cuffed minors to furniture and abandoned them all day.

"You got quite the mouth, kid," he said with slight annoyance.

"It's a hidden talent."

"Uh huh," Don picked up the conversation, unimpressed. "Got a name to go with that mouth?"

The teen stiffened imperceptibly and Danny's years of interrogating suspects told him that something significant had just happened. He decided to lean on that slight advantage. "Hey," he said, slapping a hand on the table, purposefully making the kid jump. "Answer the question! You. A name? You got one?"

When the boy answered, his voice was less flippant and much more bitter. "Why do you care? You guys never let me have one before?"

"Okay, look kid," Don finally snapped. "We're _trying_ to figure out how come you've been sitting here in our precinct, chained to a table for hours. You being all cute and snippy with your answers isn't helping anyone, least of all yourself. So, let's try that question one more time. What is your name?"

"And what if I told you it was Artie Choke?"

"I'd say you've got ten seconds before we walk back out that door and leave you sittin' here in the dark while we forget we ever saw you," Don retorted, rising to his feet.

They waited, but when no reply came, Danny also stood.

"So, if Mac's buying tonight, think we can get him to spring for some burgers? I'm starvin'," he said as they both returned their shields to their belts and stepped away from the table.

"Nope," Don answered. "He'll probably give some long, boss-like explanation about how offering drinks does not guarantee food and then tell us to buy our own darn burgers."

"I hate it when you're right," Danny laughed, eyeing the silent kid as he reached for the door. The boy seemed to be thinking intently, listening to their purposeful banter back and forth, an odd expression on the part of his face they could see beneath the stringy hair. It wasn't until Don actually flipped the light off again that the boy caved, however, breathing in heavily. Still, when he spoke, it wasn't what they expected.

"Are you guys really cops?" he asked, keeping his face shielded by the curtain of shaggy hair. "For real ones? Not rent-a-cops working for the deranged bad guys?"

Danny frowned. He was getting the idea that this kid was messed up in some crazy crap, though he had no idea what it could be. "We showed you the badges," he emphasized, pointing to it on his belt again as Don switched the lights back on.

"Which really does me a _whole_ lot a good." The boy sounded exhausted.

Danny quirked an eyebrow at him while Don crossed his arms. "What? Why?" his partner finally demanded when the silence stretched for more than a minute.

"Hello, blind kid sitting here," the boy said bitterly.

 _Blind_? The kid was blind? For the second time in ten minutes, Danny was completely shocked, his mind whirling.

"So, I can't see your badges," the kid continued, "and I have no idea who you guys are, or where I am, or even that I'm in a real police station. For all I know, this could be one big, freakin' lie," he tugged angrily at the cuffs trapping his hands, "and you're just toying with me while the Whitecoats sit around and take notes and laugh at the dumb blind kid who doesn't know any better."

 _Oh yeah,_ Danny thought. _Crazy crap, all right._ He glanced at Don whose eyebrows were getting lost in his hairline, before turning back to the sulking teen. "What'd you get brought in for?" he asked.

The boy gave a cynical laugh. "Climbing the trees in Central Park."

Danny fought the urge to facepalm. "Come on, kid," he snapped. "We're tryin' to help you here. They don't chain you to a table for climbing trees! Stop messing around and give us some real answers!"

The kid sat up as straight as he could with his cuffed hands, shaking his hair out of his face and finally looking in their direction. For the first time, Danny could see that the boy's blue eyes were unfocused and cloudy. "Hey, it's true!" he said grumpily. "I was just getting my beauty rest last night and I woke up to people shouting at me to come down because I'm in trouble."

Don shook his head. "Didn't you see the signs…" he started, before trailing off, his hand coming up to massage his forehead.

Danny grinned evilly at his partner's verbal slip, and Don mouthed a silent _"shut up"_ back to him.

"Forgot the whole "blind" part of this conversation already, didn't you?" said kid smirked. "Don't worry, happens all the time, though most people manage to remember for at least two minutes. You might actually have just set some kind of record."

Don sighed and leaned against the wall. "So why are you convinced that all of this is fake?" he asked, a little more gently than before.

"Big, overly-rough dude cuffs me and shoves me in the back of a car. Tells me straight out when I complain that one – he's not a real cop and two – I'm not lucky enough to have any rights to be worried about. Then sticks me in here, chained to this oh so comfy desk thing, and tells me to wait like a good little prisoner until the next big, overly-rough dude can come retrieve me. What feels like years later, you two come in. So, what conclusion would _you_ draw in this situation?"

Danny and Don looked at each other, sharing expressions of mixed disbelief and outright concern.

"So, you wanna go digging or should I?" Don asked him grimly, nodding toward the door.

"I'll go," Danny said at once. He knew he was a good cop, but Don was a master at interrogation. Let his partner work his skills on the kid alone for a bit while he dug through boring computer records. "I'll call Mac.," he added, pulling out his phone as he opened the door. "Tell him we'll need to take a rain check." Which was a crying shame. It wasn't every day the boss offered free drinks. Still, Danny's gut instinct was telling him there was something wrong going on here, and he could never ignore it when that instinct flared. He nodded one last time at his friend before stepping out into the hall and closing the door.

0o0o0o0o0o

Don just stood there for a minute after Danny left, studying the boy. The detective guessed his age to be around sixteen, but it was hard to tell. He was tall and skinny, hunched over stiffly in the chair due to his trapped hands, and his clothes were stained and filthy. His redish-blond hair hung in greasy strings that told Don he hadn't seen a shower in a while. The kid was snarky and abrasively annoying, but underneath it all there was something else – fear. This boy was terrified and trying so hard to hide it.

Not to mention the fact that the teen couldn't see anything that was happening around him.

"I can tell you're staring at me, you know," the boy spoke softly, breaking the silence.

Don sighed, then walked to the chair Danny had been using and turned it back around, sitting down to face the kid.

"How 'bout we try that name thing again?" he said, trying to keep his voice nonthreatening.

"Sure. What's yours?"

 _Okay_ , Don thought. He could play it this way. He was no stranger to the question for a question game. "Don," he answered firmly. "Your turn."

The boy leaned forward, as if staring intently at the surface of the table. There was silence as he seemed to be fighting some internal war, his dirty hair hanging in his pale face, but finally he mumbled a word so soft Don didn't catch it.

"What was that?" he urged, leaning in.

"Iggy," the boy said a little louder. "My name is Iggy."

"See, now that wasn't so hard," Don said with a small grin. "Iggy what?" he added.

The boy shrugged. "Just Iggy. Don what?"

"Don Flack. So, Iggy, you called your parents yet?" he asked, leaning forward and trying to see the kid's face.

Iggy gave a tired sigh, letting his head fall back a little and half-closing his eyes. "Hard to call people that don't exist," he said, all sarcasm absent from his voice this time.

No parents, no home apparently, and not willing to give up his last name… He was showing all the classic signs of a runaway, with the new added twist of him being blind.

"Where exactly am I?" the boy asked next, picking up his turn in their unofficial back-and-forth exchange.

"Sitting in an interrogation room in the NYPD's 12th Precinct. You talk to anyone at all since you were brought in?"

"Who on earth would I have talked to?"

"A lawyer…? Child Protective Services…? A detective…?" Don said, gesturing with his hands out of habit even though the kid couldn't see it.

"Okay, I've decided you have to be a real cop, because only a real cop would be stupid enough to think that useless old me would rate high enough on the food chain to talk to any of those people."

Don frowned. Someone had seriously messed with this kid's head. "Useless, defective, dumb…you keep throwing these words out. Why?"

"Pretty sure we already had the eyes conversation…"

"Because you're blind? You think you don't rate a lawyer or an adult to help you because you're blind?" he asked incredulously.

"Among other things," Iggy said with resignation.

"That's bull! Look, Iggy, every kid that gets brought in here, no matter what we think they've done, gets those. We're not in the business of snatching kids off the street and just locking them up."

"Could'a fooled me," the boy said, rattling the handcuffs deliberately.

And Don had to admit he could see the kid's point. If what he had told them was true, that's basically what had happened to him. Someone who may or may not have been a cop arrested him on lousy charges, convinced him he was worthless and on the short-list to being killed, and then left him alone and unable to get away for hours to stew and be afraid.

Of course the kid could be lying through his teeth, but the very fact that they'd found him locked in the dark, out-of-order interrogation room gave some credence to his claims. Don's instinct was telling him loud and clear that something was not right here. Either way, they'd know soon enough. And if the boy was vindicated, Don was going to personally ferret out who did this to him and make some heads roll.

"Why were you climbing the trees?" he asked, watching for any of the usual signs that the kid might be lying when he answered – fidgeting, nervousness, hesitation. Instead, all he could read rolling off the teen was exhaustion and fear – still that all-consuming fear which was getting more pronounced as each minute passed.

"I told you. To sleep."

"You think it's safe to sleep in a tree?"

"Safer than on the ground. People _usually_ don't look up in trees. Especially at night."

"How long you been on your own then?" Don tried next.

"For a while," Iggy answered evasively. "What time is it?" the kid suddenly changed the subject, cocking his head as if listening to something far away.

Don glanced at his watch and saw that it was eight o'clock straight up. He wondered if there was truth to the assumption that blind people developed better hearing, and if there was, what exactly the kid was listening to.

"It's eight PM," he said. "You don't have any idea what time you were brought in?"

Iggy let his eyes close completely, his tall form sagging. "The sun wasn't very warm yet, in the park," he finally admitted. "And I heard those same bells chiming as he drove me here, but I didn't pay attention enough to count them. That's the best I can say."

Bells? Iggy must be hearing church bells ringing. The closest church to the precinct chimed every day at eight, noon, four and again at eight at night. It had been a warm day for early fall, with Don ready to shed his suit jacket by ten AM. That meant the boy had probably been brought in sometime between eight and ten in the morning.

He grimaced. Ten to twelve hours was an awful long time to spend cuffed to a hard table and chair.

"Have you always been blind?" he asked, fishing for a few more answers before Danny came back and they could decide what to do.

"No."

This time Don detected sadness that covered a whole lot of hidden anger in his answer. "How long then?"

"Four years," said Iggy, turning away slightly. "Why are you grilling me on all this? If you're the bad guys, you already know it all. And if you really are the good guys, what does it matter?"

Don shrugged, relaxing in his chair. "Just filling time until my partner gets back and trying to see if your story checks out."

"Does it?"

He didn't like the way the teen kept dropping hints and suggestions about nameless bad guys who seemed to be after him, but knew that to ask outright would shatter the slight rapport he felt he might be building with the kid. "Jury's still out on that one," he said instead. "So, how old are you?"

The boy hesitated fractionally.

"Hey, Iggy, we've been doing so good in the truth department for the last few minutes," Don called him on it before he could speak. "Don't go ruining it by lying now."

The kid actually gave an annoyed smile at that, rolling his eyes. "Fourteen," he mumbled.

Don frowned again. The kid was younger than he expected. And fourteen was awful young to be alone and homeless in this huge city, especially without sight. He could imagine all sorts of people who would prey on or try to take advantage of him because of it. What he couldn't figure out was why someone appeared to be doing it from within the ranks of the NYPD.

"So, Don Flack, how old are you?" the teen returned cheekily, unaware of his wandering thoughts.

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know," Don said with a laugh just as the door to the room opened and Danny stepped back inside. He was carrying several plastic bags filled with what looked like Chinese takeout which he set down on the table.

Iggy pulled himself up as straight as he could, leaning toward the food and sniffing deeply. Don could read the hungry longing on his face like an open book, could almost see him salivating. It tugged at his compassion again, making him sad.

Danny gestured with his head for him to join him in the hall to talk.

"Iggy, gotta step out for just a minute. Be right back, then we'll see about some food."

He stood and followed his friend out, pulling the door shut behind him.

"So?" he asked at once.

Danny was already shaking his head, a look of extreme disgust plastered across his face.

"Don, there's nothin' in the system. No name, no arresting officer or even a record of an arrest happening. No charges filed, no attempt to contact a parent or guardian… And absolutely nothin' that would warrant treating him like a violent offender with the restraints. This room was never even logged as being in use. I spoke to Phyllis at the desk and she vaguely remembered a tall kid coming in this morning about eight-thirty, but it was right during the shift change and she didn't pay attention to who brought him or where they headed."

Don swore softly.

"You get anything out of him while I was gone?" Danny continued.

"Only that his name's Iggy, he's fourteen, been blind for four years, and is convinced someone is out to get him."

"Maybe he's right on that?" Danny suggested darkly.

"You suggesting one of our own did this on purpose?" Don asked, bristling slightly. It was one thing to have his own thoughts running in that direction, but an entirely different one to actually say it out loud. Solidarity among brothers in blue was paramount to the job; to lay out an accusation like this was serious business.

"I'm suggesting someone went to great lengths to make sure this kid fell through the cracks. Locked him in the dark in a room no one would think to look in, chained to a desk so he couldn't leave, convinced he was a hair's breadth from torture and death so he'd be too scared to call out for help… Add to that the fact that the NYPD has no official record of him even existing, even though he's stuck in one of our interrogation rooms…"

It was a damning picture the evidence was painting.

Don swore again. "Someone stashed him here, to be retrieved later."

Danny nodded grimly. "Lookin' that way."

Don sighed, wishing his lost button from an hour ago had stayed the pinnacle of his worries for the night. "So, one of ours, or someone else?"

"And that is the million dollar question, isn't it," Danny agreed darkly.

 _Yep, this night was just getting better and better._

0o0o0o0o0o

 **Author's Note:** Thank you everyone who is reading and reviewing! Means so much to me!

Two quick things: First of all, I forgot to mention that this story takes place very early in Season 5 for CSI NY. And of course, about 2/3s of the way through the first Maximum Ride novel. Secondly, a huge shout-out to my friend Lizzie for her help with this story. Wouldn't be happening without her.


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